


Guilty Until Proven Innocent

by InquisiAzrael



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dragon Age Quest: The Wrath of Heaven, Gen, Haven, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-17
Updated: 2016-08-17
Packaged: 2018-08-09 09:18:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7796122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InquisiAzrael/pseuds/InquisiAzrael
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not once was she able to explain herself. Pushed around, prodded with questions and paraded like a common animal, Azrael barely knows what’s happening anymore. One moment she is brutally interrogated, the next, the shems are asking for her help. Well, not so much asking as stating the obvious. They need her and they don’t care if she dies saving them, as long as she gets the job done. But she doesn’t get a choice, of course, as is customary. The perks of being an elf. Prisoner of the Chantry, enemy of the shemlen, and now their only hope. What could possibly go wrong?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Guilty Until Proven Innocent

The grown of heavy doors reached her eardrums. An incredible rush of wind squeezed through the opening, causing pieces of stray hair that had fallen from her bun to flutter spastically. A bun, she reminded herself, she hadn’t pinned herself, but needed to find out who did. Why? Pure curiosity of course. At least, that’s what she kept telling herself.

The wooden barrier lead out of her stone prison, one that became infinitely more degrading when Azrael discovered that she had been held within a shemlen Chantry. She would have rather been placed under a headsman’s axe! The thought of a dungeon beneath a place of worship was appalling to the elf, even if it was a Chantry. It just stacked more evidence on her opinion of the Chantry’s cruelty, their tyranny. One that was proving true after her recent blunders.

Yes, she had attended the Conclave, a Chantry-ish place, but her purpose in being their had lightened the disgust she felt whenever she was even remotely close to a Chantry. But the Conclave had been different than a common priest house. Azrael found it to be a grand temple. At least, for one built by the shemlen. Dedicated to the Maker’s bride, Andraste, the Dalish spy had marveled at the craftsmanship, the architecture. It also helped that Andraste wasn’t the bothersome Maker all the shem’s preached about, giving the temple a more placid ambiance. It worshiped Andraste and only Andraste, whom was rumored to be a part of Elvhen history as well. Or at least that is what she had heard passing several sisters when she had been in the temple. Did Azrael believe it? She did not know. Her own people’s gods were reclusive enough. And the fact that she could remember some priestess’s gossip rather than the apparent destruction of the temple occupied the elf’s mind over Elvhen religious history.

Azrael squinted as the harsh light of day shot past the doors in dazzling rays, searing her dilated pupils. How long had she been in the dark? Daylight was so painful, it made her wonder if it had been as long as it had felt. It didn’t help that the landscape was blanketed in snow, causing the light to reflect more severely into her vision.

She threw her roped wrists before her, shielding her eyes while simultaneously attempting to peer past them. What time of day was it? Mid-morning? That was about where the sun was now. Only, what she assumed to be the sun, was anything but. It was, in fact, something far worse.

As her vision adjusted, a sickening, primal fear rose within her gut. That sixth sense you couldn’t call upon at will like you could with smell or touch. That instinctual pull that has kept humans alive throughout the ages. The one that tingles deep within the abdomen when something terrible was about to happen, or when something just felt plain wrong. That sensation now inhabited her core as her eyes gazed, stricken, at the scene before her. Or should she say above?

To put it bluntly, what greeted her was a massive hole in the sky. What Azrael had mistaken for the sun blazed like a sickly depression within the heavens. Dark and ominous clouds shifted and swirled around the sky’s wound, streaks of lightning igniting within them. Distant claps of thunder could be heard as balls of green fire and rock rained down from the tear, each landing with a great crash, the shattering of stone echoing throughout the valleys. A hazy, twisting spire of light and energy snaked down and disappeared from view within the mountains, too far off for Azrael to see where it touched down at. It looked as though it descended right on top of…

The Temple of Sacred Ashes…the Conclave…

“Oh no…” The quiet statement escaped Azrael’s chilled lips. Her breath hitched, hazel eyes growing wide, terror knotting in her chest. “What happened?” she whispered, her voice on the verge of cracking under the overwhelming sensations tumulting through her body.

Her heart was racing, adrenaline shooting through her veins just from staring at the thing. How did this happen?! She screamed the words in her mind, demanding an answer from herself. She knew it was futile, she had no idea what it was or how it came to be. But what else could she do except silently shriek the questions she feared to ask aloud.

“We call it the Breach.“ Cassandra’s gruff voice pulled the Dalish from her inner tantrum. The warrior was staring at the sky as well, her words directed at the elf. “It’s a massive rift into the world of demons that grows larger with each passing hour.”

“Demons?” Azrael uttered the question softly, her mind trying to piece everything together. It went unheard, however, as Cassandra continued.

“It’s not the only such rift. Just the largest. All were caused by the explosion at the Conclave.”

“An explosion? As in…” She absently flung her arms in the air, attempting to explain through charades. Pathetically, if she may add. “An explosion can create that thing?”

Cassandra had turned and was eyeing her. Her face practically screamed that she thought the elf was crazy, and that the Dalish had just proven her point with her ridiculous flailing. “This one did. Unless we act, the Breach may grow until it swallows the world.”

Swallows the world? She sounded so sure. How could the shemlens possibly know it would have that outcome? It had only been a few days at most. Right? She was almost positive on that, even if she had been passed out the entire time. Either way, there had been too little time for the humans to discover what this co called ‘Breach’ was capable of. Her uncanny inquisitiveness was kicking in, her curious nature wanting answers. She was tired of being kept in the dark. Literally.

She was about to voice her suspicions when a cavernous echo emanated from the sky, causing both individuals to turn. For Cassandra, it was just another pulse from the Breach. For Azrael, it was an answer to her questions…in a sense.

The Breach erupted in a spastic pulse quickly accompanied by a thunderous crack. Waves of energy flowed across the clouds, like ripples in a pond. In the same instant, Azrael’s palm flared to life. Her arm shot straight out, almost as if it wanted to break off and fly towards the Breach. Pain wracked her torso as the same green energy falling from the sky sizzled from her hand and snapped across her forearm. A yelp of surprise came from the elf, her face twisted into a grimace as she fell to her knees, her thin breeches barely softening the blow as they cut into the snowy gravel. Azrael wrenched her arm away from the sky, cradling it close to her abdomen as it continued to sputter and finally subside.

Cassandra had rushed forward, her own features creased with stress, and was now kneeling before the Dalish, reaching out self-conciously but then quickly drawing back. Her voice was filled with urgency. “Each time the Breach expands, your mark spreads, and it is killing you.” Was that a hint of worry Azrael heard from the warrior? Even if it wasn’t, the elf was inclined to listen, her spasming arm giving her cause enough. “It may be the key to stopping this, but there isn’t much time.”

“It may be the key? To stopping what? That?!” Azrael was becoming increasingly flustered. She was sent to a shemlen Conclave by a clan that despised her. A Conclave that apparently blew up, killing all aside from a simple Dalish spy. She had been knocked out several times and was now a prisoner to those same humans because they thought her responsible. Why? Because she was the sole survivor? Because she had a mysterious mark on her hand? They had practically decided her guilt without even hearing her side of the story. And now they wanted her help?! They weren’t even asking! Just demanding!

Azrael tried taking calming breaths. It was a lot harder than she thought. Her mind was exhausted, her body defeated, and everything was happening so fast. No explanations, no sympathy, nothing. Her bleeding wrists were proof enough. She was alone. She was always alone, even when Keeper Deshanna treated her like a daughter, he could not shield her from the truth. She knew what she was, that she was different, and being an elf didn’t help the matter.

“You think I can stop that? I just got here, and not even by choice…“ Her tone was soft, eyes glued to the pebbles beneath her, tears smarting at their corners. She refused to let them fall. She wanted to say more but had to choke back an unwelcome sob.

“Closing the Breach is our priority. Whether that’s possible is something we shall discover shortly. It is our only chance however…and yours.”

“You still think I did this? You think I put this thing in my hand?” Azrael could not hide the exasperation that crept into her voice. This was incredibly unfair. Life was never fair to her.

“Not intentionally. Something clearly went wrong. We mus-”

“But I didn’t do this…” Azrael cut in, her voice firm but pleading, never increasing in volume. “I’m not the one responsible…”

“Someone is, and you are our only suspect. You wish to prove your innocence? This is the only way.”

The Dalish spy knew that, but she didn’t want to believe it. How many times had she queried and was still refused an answer? Such was the way of captive and captor, and such was the way for her to save her own life, even if it wasn’t by her choosing.

Azrael sighed, one final question on her tongue. “If I help, will that save me? Will I live through this and go free?” Her dark-hued eyes stared intensely into the shemlen’s own pale ones.

There was a long pause before Cassandra answered. “We have no way of knowing…”

It felt like a knife to the gut, like she had died right then and their. The elf’s shoulders slumped, her eyes wide and empty as they stared past the warrior, seeing nothing. She was going to die, unwillfully at that, and at the hands of shemlen. Like a slave. Never in her life did she wish to be back across the Waking Sea, dealing with petty insults and defensive elves rather than these brash, uncaring humans. Her thoughts drifted to Deshanna as Cassandra stooped to help the elf to her feet. She wanted to see him one last time, she would even give up her dream bath just to hug him one last time, to thank him. Azrael’s gaze was distant and lost as Cassandra lead her down the path, away from her physical prison, down into her emotional prison.

 

As she was practically paraded through the sea of tents that housed what Azrael assumed to be refugees, she felt the chill, mountain air for the first time since setting foot outside. The Dalish adored snow and the cold, winter was her favorite season. She would trek endlessly through the woods admiring the cold beauty of the snowy landscape, losing herself in the wonderful world of white. It was easy for her to entertain herself during those times. Sketching the landscape, singing small verses, even building snowmen. Yes, sometimes even she was childish.

The temperature rarely bothered her during those adventures, but her current garb was surprisingly insufficient at blocking out the cold wind that whipped through the mountains. Nothing like the still air of the forests. Although, when she thought about it, the chill shiver that crawled on her skin may not have been entirely from the snow alone.

Eyes were on her. Eyes of all shades and hues. Eyes of hate and resentment. Eyes of youth and age. The humans inhabiting the tents were emerging as the ones who were already outside began to yell and shout. They were screeching at Azrael, like ravenous beasts from the fells. Shrieking and yelping at the one they believed was responsible. The one they believed killed their Divine.

Curses and vulgar gestures were thrown her way, some might have ran forward and flogged the Dalish spy if not for the menacing warrior at her elbow. Cassandra pulled the elf closer, protectively, a gesture only Azrael noticed. It was somewhat comforting to feel Cassandra’s presence at her vulnerable back, to realize that this shem did not want her dead. Not yet, at least.

Her eyes darted around warily, tramping steps guarded as she heard Cassandra speak, her voice determined yet remorseful. “They have decided your guilt. They need it. The people of Haven mourn our Most Holy, Divine Justinia, head of the Chantry. The Conclave was hers.”

Haven, eh? So she was not very far from the Conclave. Still in the Frostback Mountains in the little hovel neighboring the shemlen temple. It was the village in which the Hero of Ferelden had revealed the secret of the Temple of Sacred Ashes and the Urn held within. Even her nomadic clan had heard of her.

As the pair began to exit the maze of tents, one of the last shelters caught Azrael’s eye. As she and Cassandra passed, she locked eyes with a young man standing outside the tent’s entrance. He looked barely older than nineteen. An odd hat donned his head, at least it was odd to the elf, one with plumes adorning it. It concealed the feathery, brown hair beneath it, but pieces still peeked out at the edges. A gruesome scar lanced across his left cheek, dried blood smeared along the gash. A recent one, she guessed. It stretched almost completely across half of his young face. His arms were crossed over his chest as he watched her, never looking away. But those eyes did not hold the leers of his fellows. Those eyes were filled with sorrow and pain. Was that pity she saw as well? For her? Azrael slowed as the young man’s gaze captivated her. It held neither hate nor cruelty. Just a saddened look that shook the Dalish to her core.

She was forced to break the connection as Cassandra bumped her from behind, leading her into a shallow gully towards a towering gate that opened onto a bridge beyond.

“It was a chance for peace between mages and templars.” Cassandra’s rough voice pulled Azrael away from the image of the young man’s marred countenance. The warrior’s voice was softer, regretful, as she continued her dialogue. “She brought their leaders together. Now, they are dead.”

They had reached the wooden barricade, the doors eased open by soldiers on the bridge. The two walked through and stopped. Azrael was actually released from the shem’s tough grip as she finished debriefing the elf.

“We lash out like the sky, but we must think beyond ourselves. As she did. Until the Breach is sealed…” A knife appeared in Cassandra’s hand as she turned and came towards Azrael. The Dalish stumbled back a few paces, but was stopped as the woman grabbed her wrists in her iron grip once more, looking deep into Azrael’s eyes. “There will be a trial. I can promise no more.” Her tone had returned to its normal firmness as she sliced through the bloodied bonds. “Come. It is not far.”

A pained hiss seeped through elf’s teeth as she carefully pulled away the ropes that stuck to her wounds. She refrained from rubbing them. They were too raw to touch. As Cassandra turned away, the elf spoke up. “Where are you taking me?” 

“Your mark must be tested on something smaller than the Breach”

“To see if it actually does anything? To see if I don’t perish in the process?” Azrael had muttered her sarcastic opinions, but Cassandra appeared to have incredible hearing.

“Precisely.” The jabbing answer was painful, but expected. Azrael sighed as she followed the warrior down the length of the bridge towards another set of gates similar to the first. As she walked, the elf surveyed the bridge and the image it created.

Soldiers protecting the village, carts carrying boxes of supplies, tables laden with discarded plans and notes on phenomenon that may explain the Breach, all of it crowded the bridge. Fear and despair was tangible, it permeated the atmosphere. Soldiers who were not listening to a Chantry brother’s prayer were reciting them on their own. One was so thrown by the impossibility of the Breach and the devastation it had caused that he had curled into a fetal position, rocking back and forth muttering unintelligibly to himself. Another was slumped on a barrel, hands rubbing together anxiously or picking absently at his lip. Sometimes they made gestures, as if he were speaking with someone, trying to shed the burden of what he had witnessed. His head was shaking, as if denying the fact that this was all truly happening. Multiple men were seated along the walls of the bridge, grasping at wounds both recent and old. As Azrael skipped and weaved past, she could not help but feel pity for them.

“Open the gate! We are heading into the valley!”, Cassandra commanded the two soldiers standing guard, slipping past them onto the trail beyond. Azrael followed, but not until she caught site of a sorrowful and gruesome sight. Lining the edge of the bridge, swathed in bundles of cloth, were figures that could only have been bodies. Victims of the Breach’s assault. Those that had not yet been cocooned were gradually being covered in a fine layer of snow.

The elf’s eyes drifted from the powdered bodies, trailing along the ground until they rose to meet Cassandra’s knowing gaze. She waved, urging Azrael to follow. And she did. Her emotions were mixed but her mind was set. She would help if she could, even if she was unsure of how she felt about everything that was happening. She didn’t really have a choice, and the man’s stare… It still stuck in her mind, unable to shake it’s woeful hold.

Peering towards the Breach once more, Azrael sighed and turned just as a trio of soldiers pressed past, a refugee crammed in between them. The Dalish heard his plea, asking the shem’s Maker to help them. Azrael knew that the gods had been lost long ago, but that did not stop her from uttering her own prayer.

“Mythal protect me…” was all that slipped past her lips as she began jogging after Cassandra.

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this, check out my other works and pop over to my tumblr - inquisiazrael.tumblr.com  
> These first few works are sort of introductory to my character, so do forgive me if they seem stagnant or a bit obsolete. They help me keep my thoughts and storyline in order. ^^


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